


The ashes of you and I

by kittymannequin



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, POV Second Person, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymannequin/pseuds/kittymannequin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, a long time ago, you thought love was enough. Now you don't, anymore, until you do. </p><p>or</p><p>That one angsty fic from Lexa's POV in second person, where they've broken up years ago but love is, in fact, enough and it will once again bring them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Almost

It starts with an end.

* * *

 

Now, when you think back, you know you should have seen it coming.

You should have felt it in the coldness of her touch, the ever-present hesitation of her lips. You should have seen it in the mist clouding her eyes and the distance she put between you each time you tried to pull her closer. You should have heard it in her hushed words and whispered confessions.

You should have, but how? 

How could you when she took everything and gave even more? How when, from the moment you laid your eyes upon her, your smile never left you? How… when you had everything you’d ever thought you’d need. 

When you remember her, you remember nothing but warmth and safety, gentle words and sweet caresses. You remember being the best you can and feeling - feeling like you belong. 

Like you are home. 

The more you think about it, the more you understand she’ll always be your  _ almost _ . You were  _ almost _ enough. She  _ almost  _ stayed. The two of you  _ almost _ made it. 

_ Almost.  _

How cliche. Both the words and the outcome of a story you thought would write itself for a long time.  _ Forever _ , you once dared to think.  _ Forever _ , you remember her saying more than once. More than a lot. 

You’re not sure when, but at some point forever became almost.  _ The rest of our life _ turned into measly four years and time began to move again, after she stopped it when she walked into your life. The thing once unimaginable, being without her, changed from never to always and somehow  _ us _ became you and someone you used to know. 

Used to. 

You think you know when the end began but you’re not so certain. You always thought you’d be able to fix whatever may come between you and her. She never needed you to fix her, she never asked for it and you never offered. She was always perfect just the way she is, just as broken and mended like you. But fixing whatever was between you… Well maybe you could, you most certainly would, if only she wanted you to. But you know now, years later, that no matter how strongly you held onto her, she had already let you go. 

Maybe you should have known better because love was always weakness and you were always so strong on your own, but she - she made you rethink it all. She lit up all the dark spaces of your soul, hidden among the sharpened shards of you heart shattered one too many times. She breathed air right back into your lungs when you had trouble breathing. She held your hand through the pain of loss, her lips were the most beautiful comfort you could have ever asked for. 

She gave you everything. She  _ was _ everything. 

In a way, she still is. As much as you’d moved on - it has been six years and you’d like to think you have, indeed, let her go - she is still here, she always is. After all, she is the strings that hold all your broken parts together. 

You still see her in everything. In everyone that came after her. How would you not?

You haven’t seen a shade of blue as clear as her eyes ever since she left. The sky tries to make it up to you sometimes and on a clear day it comes relatively close, but it’s never enough. Just like every blonde you’d ever taken back to your place after her things were long gone - they were never the right kind of blonde. They were never your blonde. 

You feel a little sick when it occurs to you that you’d spent the last six years building up walls higher than anything, anyone would ever want to climb. You’ve placed bricks along your heartstrings and even if it makes you feel colder than you’d like, at least the last of what you’ve left is safely tucked inside, beating just enough to keep you alive. Life is still life and as much as she was yours and you hers, she made you promise you’d keep breathing, no matter how much your lungs burn. 

These days you run so hard and fast just to make them burn stronger. The pain makes you feel a little bit more alive. 

And you’re still here, aren’t you? 

You are. You’re strong now, stronger than you’ve been in years and you think she’d love seeing you in your best shape. 

So what if your insides are empty and your chest hollow? You’re breathing nevertheless, just as you’d promised you would. You were never one to break a promise. 

You firmly believe you will never have what you and Clarke once shared. She was - is - your other part and nothing can change that. Not the pain you shared, not the distance, no amount of time spent apart, even if it is forever. But you’ve already made your peace with this knowledge that you’ll never have anything as good as you had it with her and now that fact doesn’t even hurt you anymore. You’ve cried all there was to cry. It simply makes the gaping hole where your heart used to be just a little bit bigger as each day goes by. 

So what.

It’s not like you’ll ever need it again. At least not in a way that would matter.

You tried it, the whole dating again thing, after she left. You really tried. But it just didn’t work out. It couldn’t, not when Costia’s eyes weren’t even blue to begin with, when her dark, brown hair never smelled like fresh paint the way Clarke’s did. Her fingers were never soft enough, even if she did touch you more gently than anyone ever has. 

But she wasn’t Clarke. 

No one ever will be. 

You still allow yourself a retreat here and there, a sort of ceasefire between your head and your heart when your mind tells your heart to let it go for a night so you can enjoy another’s touch, so you can let yourself go and just forget. But you never forget. You never let it go, never let  _ her  _ go. It’s always her face you see, always her touch you crave, her name screamed from the top of your lungs.

You haven’t been able to let her go for six years now and you know there’ll never be a time when you will. Or when you’ll want to. You’ve made your peace with that and you don’t mind living like this, a little broken, a little mended, half awake and half asleep, sliding and slipping through life. If you could go back in time, you’d do it all again. 

The sloppy first kiss, the first touch of your fingers with hers. The first time she dragged you back to her place and kissed you till the early morning hours, the first time you cried yourself to sleep with her arms wrapped tightly around you because your life has never been easy and you’ve got scars on your heart and soul from far before her. The first time you told her you loved her in the dim light of your living room with her head on your shoulder and her lips pressed lightly to your neck. The first time she asked you to move in together. 

The first time she said you need to talk. 

The first time she cried because of you.

The first time she turned her back on you.

The first time she pushed you away then dragged you back and sobbed against your shaking form because love is not always enough. 

The last time she walked out of your apartment with tear stained cheeks and lips swollen from a kiss that still felt like the first one. 

The last time she smiled at you as if the world was caught in your eyes and the heavens had found a home in her own. 

Someone once told you time heals all wounds. You read somewhere that memories fade. There is a saying - feelings go away. 

_ Things go wrong _ , your favourite song says, filtering through the stillness, the deafening silence of the apartment. It’s baren, much like you. Void of warmth, just like you. 

_ Things go wrong _

_ But I still love you _


	2. Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so i really love writing in second person and there's definitely more to come.

You’ve never had a problem with waking up early in the morning. You loved it, you truly did. 

Nothing felt as good as being up just a little after the crack of dawn, out of bed and breathing in the freshness of the early morning air. The briskness of the breeze, the cold that prickles your skin and makes you feel alive. 

But the thing you loved the most was waking up before Clarke. 

Seeing her come to a conscious state was always a sight to behold. And it made waking up all the better, no matter how hard the day ahead might be. And absolutely worth it. 

Lately you don’t really like mornings as much. They’re bland and far too plain, empty without her soft murmurs and warm arms tugging you back to bed. Nothing made a morning as gorgeous as the first few seconds of her eyes opening. No sunrise will ever compare to the beauty you found in them. 

You used to spend minutes each morning just staring at her eyes, at those gorgeous little specks of grey hidden in the ocean of her irises. Every morning you’d wake up and drown in her sleepy, loving gaze. And every morning it felt wonderful.

You still want to drown in her eyes the moment you wake up.

* * *

 

The bed is colder this morning, so much colder than you remember. Maybe it’s the cool air passing through the open windows. Or the short, thin covers you didn’t really bother draping fully over yourself.

But mostly, you think, it’s the empty spot beside you. 

She was always your warmth. Her absence is what keeps you cold. 

When you stretch your arm out, even as you know she won’t be there, your heart sinks when your fingers are met with nothing but an empty sheet, chilly and coarse against your fingertips. 

You’d think six years would be enough to break a habit but you know your hand will always search for hers. 

You reach out nonetheless. Just as you always do. Hoping, wishing - still dreaming. You think it’s your body telling you it needs her warmth, her presence.  _ Her _ . It’s your heart, still aching, still yearning to settle down with the beat of her own, just like it used to so many mornings before. 

When you finally roll over, your breath hitches and a small, barely audible sob escapes you. You can’t stop it and even if you could, you wouldn’t. By now you’ve learnt it’s best to let it out, no matter how weak it makes you feel. 

_ Love is not weakness, Lexa. _

You remember her words as if she’d said them yesterday. You understand them now, years later. You really do.

Yes, you are weak, in so many ways you’re weaker than ever but - you were great once. Strong and brave and had the world at the palm of your hand. You were someone and love made you that much better. And if someone told you that by being the shell of who you were because of love makes you weak, then you’ll be weak. 

You are weak but you’ve loved the strongest. You’ve loved in the most courageous of ways, in the purest of forms. You loved with all you had and all you were was everything you loved with. 

You felt what only a few ever have and if that makes you weak - then you are, indeed, the weakest being in the world. 

With the first cup of coffee settled snugly in your hands, you seem to drag yourself around the flat. One glance around it has you buzzing with memories and you’re walking over to your old music player before you even notice where your feet are taking you.

Clarke laughed for hours when you pulled it out of its giant box, wrapped in three sheets of safety paper and one bubble wrap.  _ You know we both have laptops and CD’s are gonna die soon, right?  _ You simply shrugged off her words and set it up anyway, smiling all through it.

It was your father’s gift and your most precious possession and the warmth it brought to the place put a smile on your face every time you set it to play. Clarke’s hands were already brushing through your hair before the first sound flew through the room. 

The way your arms fit around her waist was magical. You’d rest your fingers at the small of her back, press them lightly just below the hem of her shirt and slip them over her soft, warm skin whenever her fingers twirled through your braids and her breath tickled your neck. 

The first song you ever danced to with her was one you’d always loved dearly. You always had a thing for Nick Cave, the way you felt his voice deep in the very core of your bones. She wasn’t much of a fan, but when her arms slipped around your neck and her hips swayed with yours, you knew she loved the music just as much as you had. 

You’re not sure when you’d put the CD in but through your thoughts you hear the familiar words and you falter in your steps a little, swinging from side to side with your cup still snug in your hands and your fingers wrapped tightly around the pleasant, warm ceramic. 

_ Ohy my love, the dawn is breaking _

_ And my tears are falling rain _

_ For the carnival is over _

_ We may never meet again _

You feel the tears spill over before you have a chance to stop them. Every word slices through you, burns deep into your very soul and it hurts, oh it hurts. But you smile, grin even when a tear slips down your cheek and you taste the salt and the pain with it and you probably look like a madman, but more than not you feel like one. 

Mad that all you have left of her are memories, mad that she went away, mad because the only way you still feel alive is when you flood yourself so much with memories that you can’t help but cry, mad about her - still. 

A true madman - madwoman, you correct yourself with another grin - laughing with your tear-stained cheeks and a cracked, half-beating heart. 

_ Now the cloak of night is falling _

_ This will be our last goodbye _

_ Though the carnival is over _

_ I will love you till I die _

* * *

 

You’ve walked these streets a million times. You know them so well, and yet, you always find a new thing that surprises you, makes your breath hitch, throws you off balance. There’s always something that catches your attention and you have to look up and let the warmth you’ve been missing flow through you, even if you know it won’t last.

Today it’s a small flower shop that you’ve always known was right there, on the corner of the two streets you walk through almost every day, but you never really gave it any attention at all. 

You miss walking through these streets with Clarke. She always paid attention, to every little, gorgeous detail. You distinctly remember her coming home more than once with a bouquet of sunflowers or yellow roses.  _ For you,  _ she’d say, and your smile grew larger than the sun. 

They were never just your streets. They were hers and yours. In them you shared a life with her. You shared your path with her, you journeyed, to no matter how insignificant a place, you two shared a road, with your hands wound together and your fingers entwined tightly. You shared bits and pieces you’d found, little things. 

That one yellow brick in the middle of a grey wall. The small coffee shop you always said you’d go to. The girl playing a guitar across the coffee shop. The delicious smell coming from down the street, from that one italian restaurant you never got to check out. 

You miss holding her hand, her warm, soft hand in yours. You miss the way she’d blush when that sweet old man would tell her how gorgeous she is and you’d nod along with his words. There’s nothing in the world you miss more than those tiny, seemingly insignificant moments when she’d nudge your shoulder and lean up to press her lips to your neck, your jaw, your cheek, the moments when she’d point something out and laugh out to your grumpy, snarky comments, those precious times when she’d wrap her arms around yours and tell you  _ how good it feels to be like this, just the two of us, so lonely and scared and broken but we’ve got one another and the world doesn’t really care, does it?  _

You remember smiling at her words, thinking how much you love her voice and the way it wraps around her words. You miss it all.

Not intentionally, you’ve walked your way over to the flower shop and a young woman walks out to welcome you, asking if she can help you out. You don’t really know what you’re doing there, it’s not like you actually even planned on stopping by but there’s a bouquet of sunflowers a few steps away and you’re reaching for them before you can even stop yourself. But somehow, your hand stills and you’re turning away from the flowers, smiling at the woman and mumbling an apology before you turn on your heels and rush away, blinking back tears and gasping for air.

There’s a weight on your chest, the weight of a world without her, of a time gone by. Of a life unlived, a life spent yearning, hurting, surviving. 

You make your way to a small coffee shop a few streets away, and settle down at the same spot you’ve been sitting at for the past couple of years. The waiter knows you well by now and your coffee’s on your table before you even manage to call him over. You smile at him as he nods and leaves you alone with your thoughts and for the first time in a while, you just sit there, elbows on the table with your chin propped on your palm and you stare out through the large window, simply basking in the life happening outside the coffee shop. 

Here it seems as if it’s stopped. 

You rummage through your messenger bag that you’d thrown over the chair next to yours and you don’t stop until your fingers brush over a pen and you’ve got your notebook out and on the table. You don’t remember the exact moment when you decided you’d finally follow your dreams, but you’re glad she made you promise you would. 

Lawyers and big firms and all those money-grabbing, cheating shits were never your thing. You were always undoubtedly in your element, no one can deny that, but you owe that to your heritage, your strong character and your demanding, unwavering will. But that was never something you wanted to do, at least not for yourself.

When you gave up your “calling” and traded it for scribbles, scraped ideas and butchered words, you really didn’t expect it to be easy. But you didn’t expect it to be as hard either. You thought, with everything you’d been through, maybe words would come easy, maybe feelings could be poured onto pages and pages and maybe all the hurt could be written out instead of caged in. But you learned, after a year and a half of trying, that it doesn’t really go that way.

But you made it through, somehow.

Your first book was published three years after Clarke left. It wasn’t as big of a success as your second one, but you’d managed to build a small fan base and instead of always going to the dark places, your mind had actually built a shelter for itself. Not that you could say the same for your heart. 

It takes you a few small sips of the coffee, a couple of short, anxious breaths and a minute or two of staring out the window until you’re opening the notebook, straightening the first page and you’ve got a sentence written down. The first sentence you’ve written in months.

_ Maybe life should be about more than just surviving. _

  
  



	3. Alive

On days like this it takes you a while to leave the bed. It’s neither too warm nor too cold but it’s just perfect, it’s cozy and it’s safe. And safety’s something you’ve rarely allowed yourself to feel. There’s no place that makes you feel safe anymore, and the only place that did were her warm, gentle arms and the sound of her heart lulling you to sleep. 

Were it not for the incessant blaring of your phone, you’d still be in your safe little cocoon, hidden from all the things you’ve spent years trying to escape. But alas, the world, as usual, has a mind of its own and your day clearly won’t go as planned. 

The moment you reach your phone, which you’d so carelessly left in the living room before you all but passed out of exhaustion last night, you can’t help the small smile that settles on your lips when you see the caller ID flash on the screen. 

“Hello Anya.” You say as you settle down on the sofa and lean back with your blanket still draped over your shoulders, and you pull it a little closer, snuggling into the soft cushions. 

“ _ Sister dearest. Nice to hear your voice again.”  _

“Yours too. How are you, An?” 

“ _ As always, busy.”  _ You hear her sigh before she continues, “ _ How are you Lexa?”  _

You want to say you’re good, you really want to. More than anything you want to make yourself believe that you are, indeed, good, you want to reassure her just as much as you want to reassure yourself. But you know lying to her wouldn’t make you feel better and lies have never worked with your sister. She knows you all too well and in all honestly, you feel bad enough for not having called her in weeks, lying to her would just be thoughtless and not really you, on any level. 

“I… It’s one of those days, Anya.” 

“ _ Lexa… It’s been six years. You really need to…”  _ Her voice wavers and you hear her draw a deep breath before she speaks again. “ _ You know what?”  _

You think it’s just a rhetorical question so you wait for her to answer it herself but after a couple long seconds of silence you figure she’s actually asking.

“What?” You mumble, a little confused.

“ _ Fuck that. You’re never letting her go.”  _

Her words startle you a little, it’s not something you’re used to hear coming from her and you’re not really sure what you’re supposed to say to that.

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” You try to joke, even if you don’t really feel like it. But her words still echo in your mind and the longer the silence between you two stretches, the harder it is to shake them off. You’re not really sure you want to, she’s more than right.

_ “Just listen to me, okay? I’m gonna do something I probably shouldn’t. Hell, I definitely shouldn’t be doing this.”  _

“Okay Anya, now you’re freaking me out, what’s going on?” 

You’re not really sure why but her words have caused a stirring in you, something that makes you on edge. You lean forward and run your free hand through your hair before you settle it down beside you, gripping the sofa. 

“ _ Everything’s fine Lexa. Just,”  _ she hesitates one last time, “ _ I’m going to tell you something and you do whatever you want with that information, alright?”  _

“Anya will you please just tell me what’s going on?” 

“ _ Okay, okay. I’ve been talking to some people and well, they may have let a few things slip. The thing is, Lexa… Clarke is back in the city. She’s here.”  _

You’re not sure if your world spins completely out of control or it stops entirely when you hear the words. It all happens at once, you figure, because everything around you fades, colours blind you, you’re sure Anya’s saying something on the other side of the line but you can’t hear a thing. You can’t because your heart’s threatening to absolutely beat, it’s trying to thump its way out of your chest and everything, every single thing, becomes irrelevant. Nothing, except that one important, the  _ only _ important name drowns everything else out.

Clarke is back.

You’re sure your brain has just short circuited. No, you actually know it when Ana literally starts yelling and you have to take a few long, shuddering breaths to steady yourself. 

“ _ Lex, are you o _ -” 

“Who told you?” 

The words tumble out of your before you have a chance to stop them and Anya’s barely audible chuckle greets them before she starts again.

“ _ Told you, I’ve been speaking to some people-” _

“Anya, who? Raven?” 

Anya hesitates for a little while longer, and you actually find solace in the silence. You need as many seconds to calm yourself as possible.

“ _ No. Abigail called me.”  _

You don’t know what to make of this information. Both you and Anya had always been good with Clarke’s mother, even more so when her father passed away. But never in a million years would you expect her to tell either of them something like that. They hadn’t spoken in over six years, connections were severed, friendships broken… It just didn’t make sense.

“ _ Lexa? Hello?”  _

“Abby called you?” 

“ _ Yes, she did. Look, I have to go, my break was over ten minutes ago and I really need to go now. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you this but I wanted you to know so you can do with it whatever you want. I thought you should know. Abby probably had her own reasons for telling me, but that’s as far as my knowledge of that goes.” _

“Thank you An. It means…” 

“ _ I know Lex. Oh and, if you wanna make sure you actually see her, she’s got an exhibition at the biggest gallery in the city. It’s gonna be there for a month, I’m not sure about her.” _

_ “ _ I-”

_ “It’s been years Lexa, and you’re still so much in love with her. And Lexa?”  _

_ “ _ Yes?” 

“ _ I hope some day someone looks at me the way she looked at you. Go get her, Lex. And now I’m done being a complete sap. Take care sis, I love you.” _

“I love you too An. Thank you!” 

The moment Anya hangs up, your phone drops from your hand and you don’t even flinch at the smashing when it hits the floor. You don’t know what to think,  _ how _ to think, what to feel. You’re not sure if it’s pain in your chest or if it’s joy, are you excited or terrified. You don’t know if you’re dying to see her, to let your eyes, your mind, your soul have this privilege again, or do you just want to forget about everything Anya just told you, if you want to take that information and store it somewhere, stash it away and pretend that it didn’t make your heart beat again, that you don’t feel alive again just from knowing Clarke is back.

Whatever you might do, you’re not sure if you’re ready for the outcome it’ll have, you’re not sure if seeing her would make you feel better, or worse and if not seeing her, not taking this chance will make you feel worse than you’d felt in six years.

You’re not sure if you’re ready to finally know the end of this story. 

You’re frozen in your spot, unable - and on some level unwilling - to move, to push yourself up and continue with your life as you’d intended, to live again and not let this affect you as much as it has. But you cannot let it go, let  _ her _ go.

Truth be told, you don’t want to. Ever.

The memories start rushing in faster than you’d ever felt them, and in moments you’re overcome with everything that comes with thinking about her and the possibility of letting her go forever. It all hits you hard and at once and you can’t do much except let it pass, let it crash against your bones and sweep you away.

It’s loud and vivid and your chest aches, in ways you’d forgotten you could ache. You see her face when you close your eyes and the image is as clear as it was six years ago. You still know every freckle on her face, every speck of grey in her eyes, every stray blonde hair that just won’t fit in with the rest.She is so close… so near, so very much still there.

When you clench your fists you can feel her fingers brushing over your knuckles, with a touch barely there, so feather-light that you hardly feel it but you always do - even if it’s all in your head, even if she’s a thousand miles away. Your skin is still on fire where she touches you, where you remember her lips being the gentlest - on your lips, your collarbone, your tired, aching temples. 

You close your eyes again and her voice filters through, thumping in your mind to the beat of your heart.

_ Hey you. Did you know I’m crazy about you? ‘Cause I am.I really, really am Lexa. I’m crazy in love with you. I love you.  _

The sweetness in her voice is something you’ll remember for as long as your memory serves you, the way she let her soul pour through the hitches and the stolen breaths, the hushed words she’d let slip deep in the dead of the night when your hearts were as full as the moon shining through the open windows. 

It’s not until your lungs are burning and you feel yourself heaving for air that you realize just how much this is affecting you, how hard it is to face this, to face the possibility of finally seeing everything you’ve wanted ever since she left. You let yourself sink against the sofa, fingers tapping over the fabric and your head falling back as you tell yourself to take a breath with every tap, to follow the small, silent beats, as you try to calm even if it’s not really working and your heart seems to be beating even harder with each passing moment. 

It hurts and it hurts and it hurts but, for the first time in a while, you can actually feel your heart beating. It’s not just faint, just barely there. It’s loud and painful and buzzing through your whole being and you feel more alive than ever.

You  _ are _ alive, for the first time in six years and you can’t stop the smile that escapes you at the thought. Maybe the story won’t have the end you’d always wanted, you’ll probably end up shattering whatever piece of yourself you still have left, but you know, deep down, even if it’s one second of happiness, it’ll be worth it, because you feel alive again and it feels good.

You know that going to see her is not a choice. 

It never was. 


	4. Trials

It had taken you three days to muster enough courage to actually go and see the gallery where Clarke had her exhibit. 

The first after Anya told you about it, you spent all twenty four hours of it telling yourself that seeing you was the last thing Clarke could ever want. She left a long time ago, not because she didn’t love but because being around you hurt you both more than you’d ever thought anything could. You know she left because she loved you too much and you cared too little, at the time, and you realize that now. You know now how much it hurts to love so much that it actually hurts because it’s just not working and love doesn’t seem to be enough.

But you slept on those thoughts and it took you exactly a day to get over yourself and push your fears and doubts aside because six years is a long time. 

Even if Clarke looks at you with those same sad eyes, with the same look you remember from the last time you saw her, at least you’ll have that one fleeting moment when you got to commit her lovely image once more to your memory. 

It took you the whole of the second day to think of a way to approach her when you actually do get there. 

You hadn’t really thought of a speech, even if those were always your thing. You still remember each and every word you said to her the first time you two spoke. You were far too nervous back then, so caught up in her beauty and the way her hair swayed in the autumn breeze, so lost in her eyes and the way she smiled so wholeheartedly that all the air had been stolen from your lungs the very moment you stood beside her and opened your mouth to speak. 

Now you’re sure the very same thing will happen again when you see her. She’s always had that effect on you, that undeniable pull that breaks down all your walls at once and you’re left standing there, so vulnerable and yet so willing to entrust all that you are with her. 

She’s always made you feel so. You’re sure your eyes will speak more honestly than you ever could. And you know she’ll understand. 

Clarke was the first and only to ever know you better than yourself. It had taken a while for you to disarm all the traps you’ve hidden under your skin, but she managed to crawl beneath it, to disarm the few that you’d forgotten about, and after she’d climbed the walls you so carefully built around your heart, she gave you everything you’d ever dreamed of. She didn’t conquer - she cradled your heart with her own, molded herself between your ribs and let in all the warmth, the sunshine in and your lungs finally felt free enough to be full. 

So you don’t have a perfect speech because words will melt away anyway and you know, no matter how hard you try to prepare yourself, you’re in no way ready for the storm that’ll hit you the moment your eyes meet hers. You can almost feel the whirlwind pulling in you, the force of your love crushing you with every breath you’ll get to take in her presence. Part of you still thinks she may just be a goddess and everything you’d ever done around her felt like a prayer answered. 

The third day after Anya told you, you managed to tell yourself that no matter what happens, it’ll be alright. Yes, it will hurt, whatever happens, but you’ve lived so far and you made a promise you intend to keep. After all, life is about more than surviving and you’ll prove yourself right with that. 

And that is how you find yourself standing at the corner of a street you knew so long ago, the same street you and Clarke walked over so many times before. You always told her there would come a day her art would be in that very same gallery that you’re so hesitant to step into now. And here you are, across the street, leaning back against the cold brick wall, staring at the same windows she used to stare at, longing, just as she’d longed. 

You don’t know exactly how long it’s been since you’ve come here, but you’re pretty sure it’s been at least three or four hours since you’ve left your apartment. 

The moment the gallery came into view as you rounded the corner, your feet froze, rooted in place and your breath caught in your throat. Something about being there, so close to her, to everything you’ve wanted for the past six years… It’s overwhelming. 

Now, a couple of hours later, you’re still in the very same spot, with your third cigarette perched between your fingers, burning away because your mind had wandered to a place you haven’t visited in years because you realized this might be the last time you’ll ever get to see her. 

And it got you thinking, remembering the one time you wish you could forever erase from your memory but for some strange reason you never want it washed away from your skin because you still feel the coldness of the day and the way your chest hurt when she looked at you for the last time. It was a bit later in the year than it is now, late November, and your fights had grown worse. You kept pushing her away, she kept trying to break through, you began building your walls back up and she had nothing but her bare hands to slam against them. You remember trying your hardest to fight for it, trying and failing over and over again, until there was nothing you could fight with, no more strength in you and all you had left was rage and anger and sadness. And all you could give were fears and doubts and hurt. So much hurt.

She craved so much more, and deserved nothing less than everything.

You were so busy all the time, always working, never home. You wanted to make something of yourself, be someone unlike the people, the figures from your past. You wanted to become someone not even remotely close to the ghosts of the life you had when you were young but somewhere along the road, you wandered, got a little lost, and you almost became the very person you hated the most. 

And Clarke… Clarke was always a dreamer. A  _ now _ kind of girl. She was the calm after all the storms, your safe harbor to come home to. But she had her own worries, her own fears and doubts and her sadness ran deep, so much deeper than you’d ever actually realized.

At least not until it was too late.

You finally shift when your leg begins to hurt and it’s not until then that you realize that if you’re ever going to walk in, it should be soon because it’s closing time in an hour or so and you’ve still not moved from your spot.

So you finally do. You will your muscles to work again, your feet to move and you cross the street in a half daze, wondering how it’ll feel to be in the same place as her after such a long time. You’re a whirlwind of emotions, excited and afraid, terrified and overjoyed at the same time. Your heart is beating a thousand miles an hour and the very prospect of seeing her has you squeezing the belt of your messenger bag tightly at your front. You pull your earphones out and slip them inside your bag, put your phone to silent because you don’t want a single thing disturbing your presence here and the moment you push open the door and step inside, you know you’re in a different time, a different world. 

Colours hit you first. 

The first, largest room seems to be a kaleidoscope of differently shaped paintings, all so vivid in colour, so bright and warm and it feels as if your heart will explode as your eyes travel from painting to painting. You’d recognize her style anywhere, the tell-tale mixtures of sharp edges and smooth planes, the way they seem to shift from dark to light in two, three moves of a brush. It’s wonderful, truly, to see the way she’s put her soul into something she cares so deeply for, and how much it translates into a canvas makes your heart throb. 

You find yourself frozen in front of a couple of paintings more than once. It’s mostly the ones depicting the night sky, with stars, the moon and faraway galaxies so distant yet so close. The forests take your breath away, and you’re not sure if it’s the way she’s used the colour green so much or the fact that every paintings seems to draw you in and make you feel as if you belong inside them, among the trees and the ground below them.

In the midst of your awe, half hour after you’d finally walked in, you realize you still haven’t seen Clarke. You look around wondering,  _ hoping _ but you think she’s not really there, at least not now. There is a person discussing the paintings with other visitors, clearly some assistant of hers but she is nowhere to be found and you can’t help but feel that void inside you grow stronger and bigger with each breath you take.

Of course the universe would have something against the two of you seeing each other again. 

You guess it’s time to move on. 

By the time you’ve passed through the two large rooms, it’s been an hour and you almost miss the smaller room but you peek inside and your breath catches in your throat. 

When you step inside you’re frozen in you place, breathing heavily with your eyes watery and your head spinning with all the memories that seem to have flown in and swept you away. 

There are five paintings there, much larger than the rest, and each and every one is more beautiful than the previous one. And by chance, or fate, you know them all because you’ve seen them, you’ve imagined them countless times when she told you stories of all the ideas in her head, all the wonderful things swimming through her mind and these paintings… They were a part of them. 

The first one, with the girl in space, it makes you stop in front of the canvas and your breath catches in your throat once again. It’s so beautiful, even if you know it’s so sad. She used to tell you about the girl almost every night before bed, about the girl who has a dream, the  _ Sky Girl, _ trapped in her tiny little cell in the endlessness of space, alone and praying, hoping, wishing she could be somebody other than herself. Wishing she could be free. Sometimes you wondered if Clarke felt the same.

When you finally will your legs to move to the other painting, you feel the sting of tears in your eyes. 

A woman, fierce leader standing at the top of a hill with a forest so green and lush behind her, with a sword in one hand and her bloodied red cape falling down one shoulder and pooling on the ground behind her, eyes closed and her chin tipped up.  _ The Commander _ , Clarke used to call her,  _ the one who carried the world on her shoulders _ . More than once Clarke would look at you, brush her thumb over the bags under your eyes and whisper  _ my beautiful, strong commander _ , and you don’t think you’ll ever forget the way she’d kiss you afterwards and tell you that some day, the world will not be so hard on you. 

You still remember.

You know what the third painting is before you even look at it. 

The  _ Sky Girl and The Commander _ , says the painting, and you don’t even try to stop the tears that spill down your cheeks. All you can do now is brush them away as you stare, chest heavy and your breaths so long apart that you think your heart might just stop from all the shortage of air.

You’re about to move to the next painting when a clearing of a throat behind you catches your attention.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” An unfamiliar voice startles you and you glance over your shoulder, still wiping away at your tears. The woman standing at the door seems to be the assistant you’d seen earlier and she approaches you with a tissue in her hands but you wave her off with a smile. 

“It is rather wonderful,” You murmur quietly and turn back to the painting. 

“Miss Griffin never told us about this set, you see. We had no idea these five paintings even existed until the day before the opening.” 

“Howcome?” 

“Well we… We’re not really sure. I believe they mean that much more to her than all her art put together and it was probably hard to put them on display like this. The way she looks at them, or  _ talks _ about them… It’s a very personal experience.” 

“I see.” You say, unsure what to think of that. 

You know she’d only ever told you about these ideas, but you thought she’d have shared them with someone by now. 

“I didn’t want to intrude but I’ve come to tell you we’ll be closing in fifteen minutes.” 

“Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be out in ten.” 

The woman retreats and you turn to the last two paintings before you even realize it. They’re gorgeous, just like the rest of them, and you let the tears fall down once again, unable and unwilling to stop them.

These two are by far the most explicit paintings in the whole gallery. You know Clarke was always and expert in female form and nudes, but you think she’s exceeded even herself with these two. The warmth of the colours, the depths of feelings within the paintings.. It’s wonderful. They are also by far the most beautiful. You can’t help but chuckle at the irony though, because in the last two paintings, the  _ Sky Girl  _ and  _ The Commander _ have gotten a happy end, unlike all those times she’d told you how in the end, they always lose one another, despite the great love they share. 

Sadness envelops you for so many reasons, but mostly… Mostly because you start thinking someone has given her a reason to believe that love doesn’t have to end, that love is not just a fight and that they, the  _ Sky Girl and her Commander _ , as much as Clarke herself, deserved better. But you push those thoughts aside because even if it is so, it’s none of your business. The universe has already spoken, putting you here today of all days that she is not present, and you know a sign when you see it. 

It’s time for you to let it all go, to let  _ her  _ go. 

You wipe away the last of your tears and turn to leave, throwing one last glance over your shoulder when you leave the room. The assistant smiles at you and gives you a tiny little wave when you cross the gallery and head for the door, and you offer a small smile back, nodding in her direction. 

Nobody can say you didn’t try. 

You did. It took you a while, but you got here with all your hope and yet, the world thought it best not to give you that one thing you’d been dying to get for the past six years. No last moments with Clarke, no fleeting glances, no last goodbye. All you get is the warmth of her colours, the feelings she’s left on those canvases and the hollowness in your chest that nothing, and no one will ever be able to fill up. 

But you really did try. 

The ache in your ribcage is so strong, too much really, and the tears in your eyes sting hard and constant as you step outside and move to walk away without another glance back because if you do, if you turn around once again you know you’ll never be able to leave this place, you’ll stay there, rain or shine, and you’ll wait for her until you can tell her how much you still love her and how hard it is to be living without her. You know you’ll break down and cry for another lifetime because you really,  _ really _ don’t want a life without her but you can’t do that, you can’t - not to yourself and least of all not to her. 

So you brave on, you push yourself once again and you know you both deserve better than to cry for the rest of your lives. It wasn’t meant to be, you think, and you’ll live with that knowledge until it’s your time to go. 

You don’t get far though. You’ve barely taken two steps out the gallery and you’re shivering in the cold, with your cheeks tearstained and your eyes red and a little swollen. You’ve pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and you’re about to finally go back to your place and spend a couple of days - maybe even more - crying yourself to sleep when something, someone hits your shoulder and you have to step back, nearly stumbling over your own feet.

Something falls down, you hear it clattering on the ground and you guess it’s a phone or some other device but then a voice breaks your thoughts and it’s not the words but the familiarity of the voice that has your breath catching in your throat for what is probably the fourth time today.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I’m going.”

Your head is bowed down and you know you’ve tears running down your cheeks but you don’t care. You don’t care about anything anymore, not right now, not when you know who it is that standing in front of you, who just bumped into you, whose voice is making your heart jump out your chest and your stomach flutter in a way you haven’t felt in years. 

“Are you okay?” She asks and from the corner of your eye you see her reaching out and a second later you feel her hand grasping at your shoulder.

Somehow you heave a long, shuddering sigh and when you look up, and a forest meets the sky, you’ve got a smile as wide as the sun. 

“Hello Clarke.” 


	5. Chapter 5

“Lexa?” 

For a moment there, you think your eyes might be playing tricks on you, but when she speaks again, and it’s your name she says, you know this is real.  _ She _ is real, and here, right in front of you, after all these years. 

And you can’t help yourself. 

The tears itching to fall spill over, the shaking of your knees threatens to throw you off your feet and the heaviness in your chest grows with every shallow breath you take as you stare at her. 

“Are you-” She starts but then there’s a look in her eyes, one you recognize from all those years ago.

There’s a sadness in that look, one so deeply rooted in her that it makes your heart ache knowing that you caused that very sadness. But there is compassion in her eyes, so much of it, and warmth the likes of which only she could ever give you.

You barely realize it but she’s setting her bags down - the ones you didn’t even notice she was carrying - and before you know it she’s taken a step towards you and her arms glide over and around your shoulders, she’s pulling you in and -

You’re home. 

“Why are you crying?” She murmurs beside your ear, arms tight around you and her breath tickling at your skin. You can feel the rise and fall of her chest, the beating of her heart so close to yours, finally right there where you’ve known it should be for the past six years. 

“I…” You try, you really do try to say something but your mind is blank. You heart is full but your mind has become void of any thought, except one.  _ Clarke. _

And it’s all you can think of, all you can understand at this moment is that she’s here, she so,  _ so  _ real, and you’re close to her, next to her, with her. And you let out a shaky laugh, a small, tiny chuckle, breathless and dazed, and she’s laughing along with you, your body shaking in her embrace. 

When you finally catch your breath your arms slip around her waist in a matter of seconds and there’s a faintest hitch in her breathing, this one tiny gasp and a hushed ‘oh’ and it’s all you need to feel whole again. 

And you do, you really do.

You think time has stopped because all you feel is Clarke, her arms around you, the feeling of her fingers wound in your hair, the rushed, heavy beating of her heart and the light puffs of her breath against your neck. 

But then she starts pulling back, ever so slowly, and in that moment you realize that, even if you’ve never hated anything, or anyone, you hate this. You hate the way there’s an emptiness growing inside you the moment you can’t feel her heart next to yours, or how the warmth of her arms fades and you’re back to square one, back to that miserable, cold shell you’ve grown so used to.

And it hurts. 

But you tell yourself she’s there, staring at you with those wide blue eyes and it’s enough. It’s more than you’ve had until now and you’ll be damned if you let this moment go to waste because your miserable brain won’t let your heart feel again.

“Lexa?” She mumbles again and it’s only then that you realize there’s a tear sliding down her cheek and her voice is so small and gentle that it makes you want to hold her hand and lace her fingers with yours and  _ never _ let go. 

But you can’t do that. 

Not anymore.

“I- I’m sorry.” You mumble and it comes out choked and through a sob as you look down and it’s the first thing you manage to finally say and you’ve wanted to say it for six years. You never thought you’d get the chance to but now that you have, you don’t really feel any better. There’s no weight lifting off your shoulders, no ease to your pain, no relief. 

The emptiness inside you only grows as you realize those words mean no more than they have six years ago. You could be the one person that feels more sorry than everyone else in the world, your remorse would still not be enough. 

“I know.” You hear her murmur right before there’s a warmth on your cheek, she pushes a stray hair from your face, tucks it gently behind your ear and runs her thumb over your cheek, coaxing you to look up. “I am too.” 

You’re confused. A little lost, surprised but most of all, you’re confused because - there were times when Clarke would apologize. It was always little things.  _ Sorry I forgot to take out the trash! Sorry I left my phone on and it rang at 7am! Sorry I kicked you in my sleep!  _ But there was nothing she had to be sorry about here. 

You carry all the blame. You did it all. You ruined everything. 

You are the only one at fault.

“Wh- What are you apologizing for? I- It was my fault. It’s all my fault. I was an idiot. I-”

“It takes two to break up Lexa.” Clarke pulls her hand away and you almost whimper at the loss because it felt more soothing than anything you’ve felt in the last six years. But you don’t allow yourself that. She deserves better and- “I realized it a little too late though. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what an idiot you were. I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I didn’t fight more.” 

You don’t know if it’s her words or the weight of your feelings or if it’s just the fact that this is not how you planned this day would go but something in you breaks even more - you’re not sure if there’s anything in you still left to be broken though - but you almost crumble to your feet and reach out for her again and when she doesn’t pull back, when she simply lets you hold onto her - it’s home again.

Her arms have always been home. Her smile… Her smile has always been that light you leave on the porch when you know someone’s gonna be home late. Her eyes have always been the key under the pot on the window, the one you never use but always leave there because you know someone who always forgets their own. 

Clarke is home. 

She is warmth and gentleness and mirth. 

Clarke is solitude and company at once. A touch of heaven, a dash of joy. 

You’re such a sap. You’ve always been one around her, for her, to her. You’ve always been everything you could manage, the best you could be, because she made you better. She made you get up in the morning, look at yourself in the mirror and think ‘hey, I can do this’. 

Clarke is your home. 

“Can we-” You start but almost choke on another sob and she slips her arms around your waist, pressing herself close again and it’s the strength you need. “Can we talk? Somewhere more private?” 

You know she might say no. She has every right to and this may be the most you’ll ever see her again. The most you’ll ever see of her, feel of her, feel at all, ever again. 

“Yes.” She murmurs and you don’t need to hear anything else. 

It’s enough to keep you going for years, you figure. 

“Coffee?” 

She chuckles just barely and you wanna hear that sound every day for the rest of your life. “Sure, Lexa. But you have to let go of me if we’re gonna walk.” 

You’re not quick to pull back. You’d like to hold her for as long as possible but you’ve already stepped over so many boundaries, and you’ve gotten more from this day than any other day in your life. 

“Sorry.” You almost manage a smirk as you pull back and wipe at your cheeks, brushing away the tears. “Sorry it’s just… All this, you here, finally- I-- Clarke I missed you. So much and it’s just-”

“I know.” She’s calm when she speaks, even if her eyes tell a different story. “I need to go help close up the gallery and we can go grab that coffee then.” 

“Yeah, yes, of course.” You say and reach up to brush away the last bit of tears you still feel prickling at your eyes. “I’ll wait out here.” 

She disappears inside right away, rushing through the entrance.  When she’s out of your sight you let out a long, deep sigh, shuddering and wrapping your arms around yourself, glancing up at the sky with a smile playing on your lips. It’s not long until you hear her lovely voice again and your head snaps to it as before you even realize you’re turning around.

“Ready?” Clarke is right next to you and your heart does a little flip when she tilts her head and smiles back at you. 

You tug your jacket closer around yourself and slip your hands in your pockets, murmuring back. 

“Always.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that went.. okay?   
> but things won't be that easy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh wow aren't i a slow one.   
> \---  
> the one where they finally get coffee. even if neither really drink it. and lexa's super nervous.

The moment Clarke and you start walking, it’s like you go back in time. Back to when you could still make her smile with nothing but a look, to a time when words weren’t necessary, when everything you could ever need was her hand in yours and the steady beat of her heart calming you down. 

Things were so much easier back then, you remember, and everything made so much more sense. You feel like your body’s gone back to that time because you’re so aware, so in the moment, so tense and nervous and anxious, you’re almost tripping over your own feet as the two of you walk and it kind of feels like your first date. And yet, you’re so used to her shoulder brushing against your own, attuned to her soft, shallow breaths and the way her eyes seem to stray to your own every now and again.

With every step the two of you make, it feels more familiar, being with Clarke.

It almost feels like the first few months you ever spent together, going on dates, meeting for coffee, walking around parks and galleries, both too shy to reach out and grab the other’s hand, too nervous to make that one tiny move, too excited and yet not bold, not brave enough. 

For the briefest of moments you even dare entertain the idea of grasping her hand in yours, entwining your fingers and squeezing so hard you might even break a bone or two, just to feel her touch again, to make sure she’s here, real, next to you. But the moment’s gone as fast as it comes and the sharp breeze that swirls in brings you back to the present. You do reach out but only to push your scarf tighter around your neck, suddenly hyper aware of the way Clarke’s eyes follow your movement almost meticulously. 

“Seems like winter might be rough.” She murmurs with a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. 

You manage to tear your eyes away from her for a moment, looking up at the sky and frowning and the greyness that welcomes you. When you look back at her, her eyes are already set on yours and her lips pulled in a wide smile. A tiny chuckle escapes you and you nudge her shoulder, for old times’ sake, finally realizing what it is she’s said. Your mind flashes back to five years ago, on an early, cold and snowy November night, and once again your heart aches for her hand in yours. 

* * *

 

__ _ “Seems like this winter’s gonna be rough,” Clarke murmured, squeezing your hand in her own. “I think we should move our walks indoors.”  _

__ _ “And how exactly are we going to do that?” You ask with a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. _

__ _ “Well I was thinking we replace them with hot cocoa happy hour.” She grins at you. _

__ _ “Figures.” You match her grin and reach out with your free hand, tucking a loose strand of hair back underneath her beanie. It’s not until later that day that you realize it’s the very same beanie you’d bought two months ago that seemed to have magically vanished only a month after you’ve made the purchase. _

__ _ “I’m sure if you think about it hard enough, you’ll realize how logical my idea is.” Clarke tugs you towards the alley leading you both to your favourite cafe and you all but laugh out at the way her pace quickens, as if her discontent with the coldness of the outside weren’t obvious enough.  _

__ _ “I’m sure I will.” You murmur with a smirk and tuck your free hand back into your jacket pocket, matching her stride and brushing your thumb over the soft, cold skin between her thumb and pointer.  _

* * *

 

__ The walk is much shorter than you’d like and the moment you reach the cafe, you start wondering if this was a good idea after all. You’ve been yearning for this for so long that you’ve almost forgotten how fragile your heart is. How hard it will be to say goodbye after this coffee is over, how horrible another farewell will make you feel.

“Window seat?” Clarke asks, pointing towards a small table set in front of the large window, overlooking the street. 

“Sure.” 

You walk there side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing, and you pull out her chair with a small smile, feeling your heart flutter when she nods and you see the light blush on her cheeks. It feels like the first time together. 

When you sit down, shrugging out of your jacket and settling it at the back of your chair, you see the waiter already coming over from the back of your eye and Clarke’s head tilts up when his voice breaks the reverie of your moment with her.

“What can I get you?” He asks, standing beside the table with his hands entwined in front of him. 

“I’ll have a chocolate-” Clarke starts but words slip out your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“Smoothie with hazelnut sprinkling.” You finish and only when her eyes drift to your own do you realize what you’ve just done. Your cheeks flush red and you can’t help but tilt your head down and mutter a quiet ‘sorry’, trying to look anywhere but at her.

But you can’t shake the feeling of familiarity away, you can’t stop thinking that this is just like that first time you went out for coffee and she ordered the same thing, or the next couple dozen times you went out and she ordered the same. It’s engraved in the deepest, most intimate corners of your mind, wrapped around the most delicate thoughts you’ve ever had in your head.

Thoughts - memories - of your time with her.

And you want them staying right there, safe and warm and ever-lasting. And as much as you might try you just can’t, for the life of you, shake them away. You know her, better than you’d ever known yourself, and even if you know you shouldn’t anymore, you can’t really help it.

It’s not until you hear the light, cackling sound of Clarke’s laughter, that you realize you’ve been silent for probably far more than you’d intended and when you look up, her eyes are still on yours and they waiter’s already gone and it’s only then that you realize you didn’t even order your drink.

She tilts her head and the hair tucked behind her ear falls down her side, framing her face and cascading down her shoulder and once again you find yourself staring, longing to reach out and tuck it back in its rightful place, to brush your fingers down her ear and slide your thumb over her jaw. But then her lips widen and you can feel the tips of your ears growing warmer by the second and reproachful thoughts find their way to the center of your mind. 

“Earth to Lexa, still with me?” 

_ Always _ , you think but before you can blabber once more, you manage to stop yourself.

“Ye-yeah, sorry, I was, I uh, I’m-”

“Still as awkward as ever, I see.” She asserts with a knowing smirk and your insides twist and twirl in desire and ache that you can’t quite place. 

You’re not sure if you want to kiss her, fuck her or spend hour telling her how much you’ve missed her. Or all of the above, for the rest of your life. 

You run a hand through your hair, glancing to the side with a sheepish smile, before resettling your gaze back on her and leaning over on your elbows. 

“You make me nervous.” You admit, a little timid, a little scared. She takes a while to answer and you just stare at her, gauging her reaction, the way her eyes widen a little and her lips fall slightly open as if she doesn’t expect such honesty from you. And you’re not really sure where it’s actually coming from because it’s exactly the opposite of what she probably remembers of you.

It’s everything you’ve never been and all you ever wanted to be with her.

Honest, open, bare. 

Naked and willing to let her in not just through the cracks in all the walls you’d put up but ready to break them down and let her plant flowers and trees around your heart instead. You wish you’d been like this when she needed you to.

She seems to brush the words away and clears her throat as she pulls her scarf off and sets it aside, fingers slowly twirling around the fabric. She opens her mouth to say something but the waiter comes out of nowhere and you both look up when he starts putting drinks  down on your table.

“One chocolate smoothie with hazelnut sprinkles for you,” He murmurs, setting the cup in front of Clarke, “And one darjeeling for you.” He says and sets a mug full of steaming tea in front of you but when his eyes meet yours he’s got a nearly mortified look on his face and you’re pretty sure it’s because of the look of shock that’s crossing your own features.

“You still drink that, right?” Clarke quips in before he can say something.

And just like that, she does it again and your heart skips a beat from the familiarity of it all. 

“I do.” You acknowledge and nod before the waiter walks off. “Thank you.” You murmur  with a tiny smile pulling at your lips when you look at her. “Still an avid tea drinker, I’m afraid.”

“And I still am not.” She jokes. 

“Nice to know some things never change.” You say, reaching to wrap your fingers around your mug, your eyes never leaving hers.

She leans over and her chin settles on her palms as her elbow press against the table. Her voice is quiet and small when she murmurs. 

“Yeah, it really is.” 


	7. Anew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> woooooooooooah i'm updating again

“I mean it’s great and all but, you know, it’s not me. You know me.” Clarke murmurs, fingers brushing over the table.

Yeah, you know her. You really do.

“And that’s why Paris was great for two years and how I got sick of it.” Clarke finishes her story and you don’t even bother suppressing the laughter bubbling in your chest.

She’s always had a knack for telling stories, always been the soul of every party, the centre of people’s attention - and usually the sole focus of yours - and you’re glad to know she’s still got that spark in her, that lovely warmth in her voice, the gestures and noises, the way her nose crinkles with her words and how she flails her arms around when explaining things.

You’ve always loved that about her, the way she enthrals people with nothing but her voice and how her imagination and her wit can keep them interested for so long.

It makes you think of all those times you’d just sit around the flat, sharing a blanket on the couch and she was telling you stories about her childhood, about the way her dad used to carry her around on her shoulders and how Abby would always yell at him. Or all the stupid stuff she’d made Wells do, all the things she told you about him every time you two had gone to his grave.

All the memories of her murmuring about your shared future just moments before you’d drift to sleep hit you like a train and you blink once, twice, suddenly aware that you’ve been silent for what is probably a couple of minutes and Clarke’s eyes, warm and curious, are set intently on your face, as if she’s trying to figure out what’s on your mind just from staring at you.

“You okay there Lex?” She asks, and that stupid nickname makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Yeah, I… I was just thinking.”

“I’ve gathered as much.” She grins. “What about?”

“You.” The word slips out before you can stop yourself, and you’d like to think you’re brazen but really, your heart’s just too tired of playing games and your mind might finally be catching on.

Clarke leans back in her chair, clearly taken aback by your blunt response, and you take it upon yourself to try and soothe the mess you always manage to stumble into when she’s around. Even six years later, she still gets your mind spinning with nothing but a look and you’d think it’s at least a little unsettling but it’s Clarke, and you’re you and it was probably meant to be, you’d like to hope it still is, and nothing can surprise you when she’s in question.

“I mean,” You clear your throat, “I was thinking about us.”

And it’s just like you to make a slightly awkward situation slightly more awkward.

“What about… Us?” Clarke questions, fingers clasped around her drink. “There is no us, Lexa.”

It hurts. It really does.

Because so far she’s been nothing but soft and warm and welcoming and so, so Clarke and you got pulled in, you let yourself fall back into a familiar scene, into her warmth, hoping, praying that she’d let you in. And she did, but you should have known that what you did years ago would always come back.

You can’t erase who you were back then and you don’t want to.

“I know.” You almost whisper the words. “But there was us, before.” You try, and it kind of sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of something you know should be true, but you’re not exactly sure anymore. “Wasn’t there?”

This is not something you should talk about after six years. These are not the words you’d thought you’d say to her when you see her for the first time in this much time. Not that you’d ever thought you’d get to see her again but - this is not it.

You thought you’d be brave enough to finally say what you should have said all those years ago.

Maybe not yet.

“There was.” Clarke says and you meet her gaze, warm and welcoming just a few minutes ago, uncertain and just a little broken now. She puts her drink down then quickly, grabs her bag and puts some money on the table, hurrying to get up before her eyes meet yours again and you realize she’s crying. “I thought I could do this but I...” She stops herself and it’s then you feel your own tears slip down your cheeks. “I can’t, Lexa. I want to, god, you have no idea how much I want to sit here with you and just, just look at you and just, but I-”

And you have to look away, you have to tear your gaze away because fuck, your heart’s tearing again, all the stitches are broken now and you can almost feel it bleeding through the hollow of your chest, you think you can almost feel the warm blood coating the inside of your ribs.

“I need to think about this.” She mumbles and rushes past you, the smell of her perfume, the one you loved the most, breaking the last of your walls.

You sit there, head in your wet palms, chest heaving and hurt and your world is upside down. It hurts and you wish you were better, you want to get up and run after her and tell her that all she’s had is time and you’re here and she is again and that you don’t need time apart, you need time to stop and let you be, together, but you’re not that strong.

And she’s crying again because of you and maybe you should have stayed at home this morning.

It takes you twenty more minutes to will yourself to get up and leave the cafe, with your tear-stained shirt and your eyes red and swollen. The waiter mumbles a silent ‘bye’ and you’re sure you must look like an idiot, still sobbing on your way out. You step outside, shivering from the cold that hits you, and the pain that seems to want to break through your bones and shatter you from within.

You take a short, pained step, and you stop, trying to breathe in, unsure if it’s the cold that makes it so hard, or the stone pressing on your chest, the one you’d personally carved and placed there. When it gets a little easier to breathe, you decide it’s time to go home again.

So you take another step, and another, and another, not bothering to look up or pay attention to anything around you. Until you nearly stumble into someone and you’re forced to look up, squinting slightly ‘cause even your eyes hurt.

It’s blurry and kind of weird, and you’re really not sure if you’ve just been hit by a car so you’re hallucinating, or maybe you’re still sitting at the coffee shop and you’ve cried yourself to sleep so you’re dreaming, maybe this whole day’s been a figment of your imagination but you really don’t expect to see Clarke standing in front of you, just a few feet away from the cafe, with her hands buried in her pockets and her lips pulled in a tight line.

“I don’t wanna go again.” She mumbles and you raised your hand to pinch your own cheek ‘cause it’s surreal. “Do you want me to go?” She asks and your hand is stuck in midair, your mind feels blank and your heart’s trying to jump out of your chest. “Lexa.” She says your name and it sounds like a prayer on her lips. “Tell me to stay.” She says, voice a little softer with every word, until she barely whispers the last one. “Please.”

You don’t know where it’s been all this time, but there’s strength in you, something akin to it maybe, and you surge forward, arms wrapping around her shoulders as you pull her into your embrace, tight and strong, and you swear to yourself in that moment, you’re never letting go again.

“Stay. Clarke please, stay.” You mumble, and after the third time you say the words, you realize they’re the words you’ve had in you ever since you pushed her away all those years ago and you’ll say them over and over again, if need be. “Stay. Don’t leave.”

You feel her nod against your shoulder, nose pressing into your neck.

And you're right back where you've always wanted to be. You're home. And you're ready to start anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i actually came back to this story after a while and realized that i don't have anymore to say about this.  
> if i do try, it's just going around in circles, saying stuff we all already know and i mean, there's never enough soft clexa, yes, but i'd honestly rather put all that softness in my new story.  
> this one may not have finished just the way everyone wanted it but i believe all know that clexa is always my endgame.

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically me writing out a lot of pent up angst. The happy end will come, but it'll be a while.  
> Hola at me @kittymannequin on tumblr.


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